Breathing hurts. Each inhale is a spike, puncturing my heart. Each exhale, a reminder that once upon a dream, Iwashappy because of Cooper.
It doesn’t stop when I get home, or as I take off my make up. A scolding shower relieves absolutely nothing. Who decided that showers were the best place to think? Is that a universal thing? Even thoughts you’ve successfully dodged for years manage to weasel their way inside the sacred space.
“I give up.” I toss my book on the floor. Reading isn’t even a distraction, a movie either.
Finally, I find solace at four a.m., restlessly tossing and turning till then.
Stretching out this morning, my joints are tight, and my knee is achy. I rub at my eyes before climbing out of bed, slipping my feet into fuzzy purple smiley face slippers.
A yawn rips out of me. I decide to make a cup of tea before I look in the mirror at my probably disheveled and sleep-deprived face. Not to mention my hair that I didn’t take care of before tucking myself in.
I find Elliot in the kitchen.
“You look tired,” she comments. “Zach?” Her eyebrows do the worm.
“I wish.” The words are sour, tasting like a lie. Do I? Yeah. Yeah, I do-don’t know.
“Oh?” Expression losing its excitement with caution and tension. She hands me a mug with an English tea bag steeping in it and my ice roller. Great, face must be puffy too. We sit on the couch, and I tell her about my date, and that’s it. Nothing about Cooper. Her curiosity has me forcing the spotlight on me to her.
“What did you do last night?”
A door opens, and heavy footsteps make their way to us. Elliot’s rosy bottom lip is between her teeth, bringing her black coffee slowly up to her mouth. “That.”
The quarterback of the football team leans over the couch, brushing his lips against Elliot’s temple.
“Morning, E.”
“Hey, QB. There’s a pot of decaf in the kitchen. Mugs are in their usual spot.” I drag my cup away from my mouth. Elliot shrugs, smirking.
“Do you two want breakfast?” he offers. “I’ve been meaning to show you my breakfast sandwich. Sutton, are you a vegetarian?”
“Omnivore! I prefer turkey bacon,” I holler. He laughs a nod, turning his back on us to rummage through the fridge. “There should be some in the middle right drawer. Thanks!”
He waves the package in the air like a flag when he locates it. We don’t move from the couch as he cooks in our kitchen. QB—I think his name is Kendall—is comfortable in our kitchen, not asking for locations of olive oil spray or pans, as if he’s been here making breakfast before.
I smack Elliot’s knee. “Have you been holding out on me?”
“No!” The secret-keeping traitor gasps.
“You’re such a liar. Tell me everything.”
“I don’t kiss and tell.”
“Bullshit.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” My brows raise, silently calling her out again. Her voice goes up an octave as she says, “I mean it!” Then returns to normal. “I have an extremely casual friends with benefit agreement with the QB of the football team”—her words per minute gradually increase—“that’s been going on since freshman year.”
“Freshman year!? We’ve been living together this entire time, and I’ve never known?”
She pretends to zip her lips.
“Babe—”
Babe?I mouth to Elliot, fanning myself.
Kendall—I remember that is his name, and when they met. They hit it off, finding it hilarious their names are typically used for the opposite sex—is fan worthy. If they sold calendars on campus, he’d easily get July.
Zach would be May.
